Chapter 5
Shirley’s music studio is my safe haven, a home away from home.
The walls are lined with sound-absorbing panels and wooden accents that give the space a cozy vibe.
A large window overlooks the city, with just enough light filtering through the thick curtains and the faint hum of Los Angeles barely audible outside like a distant heartbeat.
Shirley’s awards are on displays near the door, facing the recording booth, and a giant mixing desk sits in the middle of the room, cluttered with a few monitors and synthesizers, an array of cables running in every direction across the floor.
I’ve been working with Shirley since my first album, and they’re like an older sibling to me.
When I signed with my label, I was worried about working with new people.
For so long my music had just been me in my room.
But Shirley and I clicked immediately. They understand me, my soul, my music, and what each song needs.
They’ve rolled up the sleeves of their shirt, revealing the few tattoos that adorn their deep brown skin as they type something into the computer.
They’ve got a new one on the back of their hand, I notice, and it makes me realize it’s been a while since I last saw them.
Shirley works all over the world, and I’ve been doing press and shooting music videos for the past few months.
But now that my second album is in the works, we can finally spend time together again.
“I’ve missed you, Ley,” I say. The room smells faintly of the peppermint tea in their mug. It was one of the first things we bonded over—our love for tea. They always bring me new ones from their trips, and I do the same.
Shirley turns to me, caught by surprise.
“I’ve missed you, too, little S. I’m happy that we can work together again.” Their smile is warm and familiar as they offer me my own mug. “All right. Let’s go over that sample you sent me last night.”
I sit on one of their rocking chairs with my knees up and take a slow sip.
“Don’t judge it too harshly. It’s a work in progress.” I reach for my phone and hit Play. Notes cascade over the room—it’s a soft ballad with little production, letting my voice and the guitar take the spotlight.
“Definitely worth working on.” Shirley breathes out. “My heart hurts in a good way.”
“Really? You don’t think the bridge is too boring?”
“It could be better, but no, I don’t think it’s boring. The tempo felt a little slow, but if you’re worried about it dragging…” Shirley props their chin under their hand. “Let’s try this.”
They march over to a keyboard, adjusting a few settings before selecting a bright, percussive piano sound. They tweak it for a bit, but their lips purse, unconvinced.
“I was thinking of adding violins? Strings could add some momentum. I’m going for a dramatic effect here, but subtle,” I say. “I think it goes well with the theme of the song.”
We spend the next couple of hours translating our thoughts into notes.
There’s an energy caught in the air, a pulse of excitement from knowing we’re about to dive into something new, something exciting (a whole new album!) and for a moment, the world slows.
At least today, the centrifuge isn’t trying to spin me out of my orbit.
“Speaking of themes,” Shirley says, taking a bite of their tuna poke during our lunch break. “What inspired these lyrics? It’s quite a sad song.”
The death of a character I love and my inability to sleep thinking about it.
But I can’t tell them that. Or, well, I can. I just don’t know how. I’m pretty sure the other people they work with all have amazing stories that inspire their music.
“Um, I guess I’ve been thinking about death lately.”
Shirley stops eating and turns slowly toward me.
“As in, the death of … moments,” I clarify.
“Ever think of the last time you did something, but you didn’t realize it was going to be the last time?
Like, when you were a kid, when was the last time you played with your favorite toy, or went to your best friend’s house?
Life is full of these last moments, these small deaths, but we don’t notice them until they’ve happened. I guess this song is about that.”
“I see. Like not knowing when it’s the last time you’re ever going to see someone.”
“Yeah,” I say, mindlessly strumming my guitar. “And if you had known, would you have done something different? Would you have said something else?”
When I look at Shirley, their eyes have dimmed, and there is a heaviness to their face, like I’ve conjured up a bad memory.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I put my guitar aside when they tear up a little.
“Why are you apologizing?” They reach for a tissue. “You haven’t done anything wrong!”
“I made you cry!” I didn’t mean to upset them.
“They’re not sad tears! They are healthy tears.
The song just brought up memories.” They breathe out and shake their head.
“When I was a senior in high school my best friend got into a car accident, and he almost didn’t make it.
I kept replaying that moment in my mind, the last time I saw him.
I couldn’t remember what I said to him. I didn’t know that I might be saying goodbye.
It tore me apart. Luckily, he pulled through. ”
“Is he okay?”
“It was years ago. He made a full recovery. He’s fine now. But we’ve lost touch.”
“Why? What happened?” I ask. Shirley’s eyes widen, as if taken aback. I stiffen—did I overstep? Maybe this is personal. “If you feel comfortable sharing it. You don’t have to, though.”
“Nothing happened, really.” They shrug. “Sometimes friendships are like that. People change and grow apart, but the love remains. We have different lives, but it makes me happy to know he’s happy.”
An uneasy feeling swirls in my gut. Is that what awaits me, too? Is everyone I love going to leave eventually? Friendship has always felt like this permanent footprint in my heart.
“You okay? You look tired,” they say.
I’m always tired, I want to say. But this time it’s my fault. I stayed up until sunrise writing a demo. Just me and my guitar in an empty house with an audience of plushies.
My attention is stolen when my phone rings.
Kai.
I chew on my lip, hesitating before ignoring the call. I told him I was busy today and couldn’t hang out, which isn’t a lie, but it isn’t the truth, either. Mia’s right. I need to be careful. Restarting our friendship means opening myself up to the possibility that I could hurt us both.
He could walk out of my life again.
“Who was that?” Shirley catches a glimpse of the caller ID before I hit Decline. “Who’s Kai? A date?”
I blink a few times, processing. Date?
Oh, right, I haven’t told Shirley I’m aroace. I didn’t know them as well when we started working on my first album, so I’ve been vague about my inspirations when they ask about my songs. They’ve never pressured me to disclose anything I wasn’t ready to share, either.
It’s not that I don’t want them to know. I just didn’t know what to tell them. Hey, Shirley, what’s your favorite Taylor era? By the way, I’m aroace, and all my love songs are made-up.
But the thing is, I trust them. When I’m in their studio, I’m home. I’ve missed our sessions like someone misses breathing when they’re underwater. I don’t want to work on a new album without them getting to know the real me.
“Kai’s one of my best friends. We used to date, but we broke up when I realized I was—”
My phone rings again. A cold shiver runs up my spine when Marissa’s name flashes across the screen. I pick up before wondering why she’s calling.
“Hey, girlie,” she starts. I stiffen. She only calls me girlie when there’s bad news. “Can you meet me at your place for a quick meeting?”
“Sure. Um, is everything okay?”
“Maybe it’s best if we talk about this in person? Bring Kai with you.”
“Kai?” I frown. What’s going on?
“See you in an hour?” In the background, I hear the sound of her clicker, then a car door being opened. “I’m heading there now.”
She hangs up before I can tell her I’m at the studio and I can’t just leave.
“Is everything okay?” Shirley’s eyes are sympathetic. They scoot closer to me.
“Yeah. No. I don’t know.” I shake my head, trying to recalibrate my thoughts. “I might have to go. I don’t know what’s going on.”
A text from Marissa comes through. It’s a link to a press article.
My body turns to ice when I read the headline: THE IDENTITY OF THE BOYFRIEND REVEALED: MEET KAI OLIVEIRA, SASSY’S ON-AND-OFF BOYFRIEND. Below, there’s a picture of me and Kai in his grandpa’s shop, taken from the opposite building, followed by another one of us riding his motorcycle.
I can hear my own ragged breathing as I clutch my phone. How did they even know where we were? I didn’t tell anyone. Did someone follow us?
According to multiple sources, Sassy and Kai dated in high school before calling it quits, but they reconnected thanks to her music. Kai Oliveira, 20, is an aspiring artist, and a current undergrad student at—
A call from Kai flashes across the screen, obscuring the rest of the article.
“Sasha, what’s going on?” His voice crackles in and out of reception, as if he’s rushing somewhere. “Everyone in class was asking me if I’m dating Sassy.”
“There’s an article about us. I had nothing to do with it.” I’m not sure when I’ve started pacing around the studio, but I stop in my tracks when Kai doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix it.”
Kai’s voice softens. “Sasha, are you okay?”
“I am, and I’m sorry. This is really unfair to you.” I swallow hard. We just became friends again. I don’t want to lose him due to some stupid rumor. “Can we meet?”
“It may take me a second to leave campus without being followed, but I’ll figure it out.”
Behind me, Shirley taps my shoulder, a worried but understanding look in their eyes.
“Hey, my car is parked downstairs. I can drive you if you need a ride,” they say.